Of Love and Loss
by Leaonna
Summary: AU: The Dark Land was dormant, purified after the War of Wrath. Morgoth was defeated and exiled to the Void. Middle Earth was rebuilt, and while there was peace for a time, a new evil was emerging. R&R please! Newly revised! Chapter 8 is up!
1. The Tale of Voronwë and Lasbelin

**Title:** Of Love and Loss

**Author:** Leaonna

**Disclaimer:** Plain and simple; I own nothing of Tolkien Enterprises. I'm just merely someone who loves to write with his great stories as inspiration.

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_Prologue: The Tale of Voronwë and Lasbelin_

All the world seemed silent, as it had been for over 1000 years since the new age began. The Dark Land was dormant, as were the evil lands surrounding it, purified after Morgoth was defeated and exiled to the Void. Middle-Earth had been rebuilt, though shaken terribly by the War of Wrath. While many of the Elves had long ago answered the summons of the Valar to return to Valinor, those that did not go back established their realms in which to live their immortal lives. And although it seemed that there would be peace for a time, the few servants of Morgoth that survived the war gathered forces with whom they could to witness the birth of a new evil. The time of peace would swiftly come to an end.

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Leagues away, the Elf-maiden Lasbelin rode in a hushed manner with her brother Arion at her side, apprehensive to break the tranquility of the heavily shaded forest in which they traveled. They had just returned home from visiting their mother's kin in Lórien, and the quiet was welcome, yet perplexing. But Lasbelin and her brother were not nearly at the borders of the vale, and that explained the soundlessness; their people did not wander often, and those who did would not go further than Amon Lanc. Lasbelin and her brother Arion rode for some time like this in the dimming light, weaving through the trees of silver birch and mallorn until they at last reached the outer borders of their village of Nuorn, embedded in the forest of Mirkwood in Rhovanion. Unhorsing himself, Arion brought his fingers to his lips and whistled softly but shrilly. Moments later two Elves of the Guard appeared, walking towards Lasbelin and Arion with smiles upon their faces.

"At last you are here," one said as he grabbed for each steed's reigns. "We had hoped for you some time during the day. Your father awaits your arrival."

"You must forgive us. It has been near an age since last we saw our kin of Lórien and it seems we did not have the will to leave." Lasbelin lowered her hood and smiled at the two Elves in front of her. They were Eldamir and Dorlas, two of her brother's friends and comrades from the Guard.

"You are forgiven, my lady, as always." Eldamir said playfully in his deep, wise voice. "And how did you spend your time in Lórien?" The elder approached her horse and held out a hand to help her down.

"Very well, I thank you." Lasbelin responded lightly with a smile. Eldamir had always been as a second father to Lasbelin. He was among the aged of the Elves, but young at heart and understood her well. Lasbelin slipped soundly to the ground from her saddle and went to Dorlas, embracing her dear friend that she sorely missed.

"Welcome home. It is well that you did not tarry in Lórien, for I fear we all would have missed you both dreadfully!" He remarked with a laugh. "Come. A feast has been prepared to welcome your return and the coming of new sect of the Guard. We shall tend to the horses."

Then with a last bow to Lasbelin and Arion, Dorlas and Eldamir led the horses away to the shelter in the trees, while Lasbelin and her brother continued forward on foot. The woods were darker now and they walked on with naught but the moonlight shining barely through the tree boughs. Winding their way deeper down through the woods and into the vale, they came upon Nuorn and then finally they arrived at their home. There they rested themselves and dressed more appropriately. Soon after when they entered the great hall, they were received with a feast, as promised by Dorlas. As her mother and father rose from the table and embraced her and Arion, Lasbelin looked about at those gathered in the hall as she parted from them. Her father, appointed as Lord of Nuorn by his brother King Thranduil, greeted those gathered and apologized for the lateness of his children. While he did so, Lasbelin caught the eye of an Elf she had never seen before dressed in the green garb of the Guard. His face captured her, though she knew not what it was about it that did so. Yet she perceived him a handsome fair, with light brown hair and piercing dark blue eyes framed by long lashes.

Short after did she have a mind for little else, for no other could compare to him. It was seemingly so the same for the Elf of her thoughts, who was named Voronwë. Although he had lived in Nuorn for several years, the lady was in Lórien and he had not set eyes on her until now. He was entranced with Lasbelin from that very moment; tall and fair, the fairest among her people. There was something captivating about her that he could not name, but he could see through her to her good soul. Days passed, and Lasbelin was all that Voronwë could think of. He wondered if he would meet her again, or if she would simply disappear back to the land of her father's kin. Yet while wandering among the fair houses of Nuorn, he came upon Lasbelin walking in the lush courtyard of her home, seemingly deep in thought. She was arrayed in blue and, not to his knowledge, thinking about him. Voronwë approached her cautiously as one would advance on prey, and to him she seemed a glowing light dimmed by the dark of her mantle. She heard no movement, yet felt his eyes upon her, and turned quickly with a soft gasp, and their eyes met in a clash of blue and gray. The sudden contact with her set Voronwë off, for he only meant to watch her there, lost in her thoughts.

"I startled you, my lady...I am sorry," he had said taken aback, and made to leave the way he came, but Lasbelin quickly held a hand out to stop him, for she much wanted to speak with him.

"Perhaps if I learned your name I would not be so startled," Lasbelin responded, as Voronwë turned and took a step towards her. He told her his name, and apologized for coming upon her unannounced.

"You must think me foolish," he said.

Lasbelin smiled, not taking her eyes off Voronwë for a moment. "I think you many things, but none of them are foolish." she replied. They spoke in this manner for quite some time, until the hour grew late.

"Forgive me," Voronwë reluctantly said at length. "I do not wish it, but I must bid you good-night. I am sure the sun will greet us soon and my duties begin tomorrow."

"You may call upon me when you are able. I take joy in your company." Lasbelin responded with a smile, and though both were unwilling, they departed.

In the following weeks, Voronwë and Lasbelin would walk in the forest just outside Nuorn. They soon came to have a favorite clearing in which they would sit and pass the time in each other's company, talking of everything and sometimes nothing at all. One day while walking amongst the trees, Voronwë professed his love and admiration for Lasbelin.

"My lady Lasbelin, I have thought on you with growing affection since I first beheld you. Have you not thought on me?" he asked her.

"I have." She replied quietly. Although Lasbelin cared for Voronwë greatly, she felt in her heart that she was not yet ready for love. She told him this, but he was more inclined to her, and from that day on, Voronwë courted Lasbelin and did not leave her side unless by his duty of the Guard. Many of the Elven women called upon Voronwë, but he desired no one else and would have no other but Lasbelin. Their courtship turned into a great love, and it was thirteen years later that the two walked together in the woods just after he had returned from an errand to his homeland of Lindon. Voronwë brought Lasbelin a fair gift of a diamond stone necklace that belonged to his mother.

"She bid me give it to you in hope that it will soon be a wedding present," he told her with a chuckle and a hint of a serious tone. She smiled broadly and turned so that he could place it around her neck. It fell perfectly against her heart. They stood close to one another, Voronwë caressing Lasbelin's cheek and gazing at her as though it has been ages since last they saw one another.

"Your eyes are as beautiful as the sea after a storm," he said to her, and she smiled in wonderment.

"Have you seen it, the sea?" she asked in intrigue. Lasbelin knew what the sea did to those who have looked upon it; it brought wonder and enchantment to their hearts, sometimes with peace, and sometimes with restlessness to always sail the vast currents.

Voronwë nodded. "Many times."

"I would love to look upon the sea that enchants so many, and to hear the white gulls call to me."

Voronwë laughed softly. "And you will, Lasbelin. You will." He kissed her brow, and in that moment, Lasbelin was fully willing to accept him.

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**Author's Note:**

Well, there's the prologue. :D Please read and review and tell me what you think so far!


	2. Absence of Fear

**Title:** Of Love and Loss

**Author:** Leaonna

**Disclaimer:** Credit goes to J.R.R Tolkien as in the species, name origins, and homes of the characters, but most are thought up by me, with an air of Tolkien spirit.

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_Chapter 1: Absence of Fear_

It was a warm yet cool night like any in spring. Lasbelin stood on the balcony of her chamber savoring the night; the wind wafting sweet smells of flowers to her as her hair and gown moved with the breeze. She closed her eyes, feeling the air cold upon her face, and the stone of the balcony refreshing under her hands and bare feet. She could hear soft movements down below, and when she opened her eyes slowly she saw Voronwë stepping languidly towards her, as he did not wish to disturb the solid peacefulness of her stance. A sweet smile lit up her face as she looked upon him, and something inside of Voronwë halted, for she was much too beautiful to behold. Oh, how he had missed her! Long, dark and wavy hair framed her porcelain white face, which held the bright gray eyes he had come to love so dearly. Her white gown flowed to the floor, and as always she wore the necklace he had given her, shinning as a star taken from the heavens of Elbereth above. Lasbelin saw Voronwë staring up at her in awe, and she deepened her grin. She turned, and moved gracefully down the stairs, making her way to him. When Lasbelin stood in front of Voronwë, he could see the look of surprise at his arrival that shown in her eyes and slightly upon her face.

"You are back at last?" She claimed, looking down as Voronwë took up her hands in his. He let out a gruff chuckle. Being with her was completely intoxicating that he often found it difficult to breathe.

"I have only been away for three years. Have you missed me so much since last I left?" He said, his gorgeous voice washing over Lasbelin in waves.

"I have," Lasbelin responded, looking now at him with her fair gray eyes, and the look that was in them set Voronwë's heart high. Although his face was masked with a smile, she could see his mind as she always had been able to do. "You are leaving again," she stated softly, not forming the words into question, for she already knew the answer. Voronwë nodded, looking at her with a soft expression.

"Your father is sending out fifteen good men to Esgaroth as a council, for their lord has requested aid of us. They are being harassed by the remaining Easterlings and Haradrim in the Iron Hills, and we are among their few neighboring allies." He saw the look of worry fulfill her expression, and he quickly added in a reassuring way, "Your brother will be amongst us, and will do everything in his power to ensure that we make a hasty return."

"You just arrive and already my father takes you from me," Lasbelin said sadly, down casting her eyes, and a frown playing at her mouth. Voronwë's face lightened, although seeing her sadness pained him, and took up one of his hands to her cheek.

"You brood as though you are a maiden of nothing less than a hundred years," he said with a hint of a derisive tone, chuckling slightly as he bent his head closer to hers. "Nothing shall take me from you, as long as you call me yours," He continued in a whisper, kissing her eyelids. Lasbelin smiled to herself, and raised her face to him. And Voronwë grew earnest and looked on her with an expression of love, caressing her soft skin.

"When do you depart?" Lasbelin asked at length.

"As the sun rises tomorrow." he responded shortly, and there was a pull at his stomach for being so close to Lasbelin. He brushed his lips across hers, and to her the touch felt no more lighter than the brush of a soft silk, but it still sent a sensation throughout her whole body. He nuzzled her cheek with the side of his face as the act of a profound lover, and made slow circles on the small of her back where he held her. The desire that burned in Voronwë's heart would not subside, and he brought his face back to her ear, grazing it softly with his lips.

"May I kiss you?" he asked in a hoarse voice, and Lasbelin nodded, brushing her cheek again his in the action. Voronwë slowly pulled back until his lips were a motion away from hers, his eyes focused on them. Lasbelin's eyes were closed awaiting the kiss, and he set his mouth over hers and kissed her tenderly, working his lips slowly against hers until she allowed him to deepen the kiss. Lasbelin responded immediately by placing her hands gently on his forearms. He took his lips from hers and kissed her cheek, trailing down to her neck slowly, and Lasbelin's breathing increased slightly.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" she asked him, and he pulled back to look into her face. In it, he saw raw passion and devotion. "I do not wish to be alone."

He smiled, though looking upon her it faded and pure lust invaded his body. In response to her question, he took her by the waist slowly and kissed her more deeply this time, their bodies molded together by the force of the kiss.

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**Author's Note:**

A short chapter, I know...but the next one will be longer and a lot more detailed.

So I just wanted to give a little background information on the places I've mentioned so far. The village of Nuorn where the Elves live in my story is in the south of Mirkwood, just below the East Bight (I wish I could link a map here). There's no real place by that name in the history of Middle-Earth, I just needed to make it up to go along with the fic.

Also, there isn't a lot of information regarding men other than the Númenoreans during the early years of the Second Age, but Esgaroth (Lake-Town) in Dale is known to have existed around that time, so I'm going to presume that it was established long before then after the ending of the First Age. The Easterlings, Haradrim, and other men used as pawns for Morgoth, undoubtedly scattered after their master was banished. But as his most loyal servant, I'm sure that Sauron persuaded the men to join him as he quietly gathered forces early on in the second age. For now in my story, some reside in the Iron Hills just east of Esgaroth. You'll find out more soon. :D


	3. Quarrel Amongst the Trees

**Title:** Of Love and Loss

**Author:** Leaonna

**Disclaimer:** Once again, I thank J.R.R. Tolkien for his Muse-like inspiration.

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_Chapter 2: Quarrel Among the Trees_

When Lasbelin woke that next morning, she saw Voronwë moving about her chamber dressing himself in the normal clothing of the Guard; green boots, leggings, and tunics with dark leather vambraces. Lasbelin watched Voronwë move gracefully about the room with a smile on her face as he was readying himself for the travel. He was so concentrated on his packing that he hardly noticed she was awake. When he walked by the balcony where the tips of the early sunshine shone in, its rays caught his light-brown hair perfectly. He was a vision, even if his brow furrowed in remembrance of what was yet needed. Still smiling, she arose serenely from the bed without a sound, her gown sweeping the floor, her feet making no noise as she made her way to him and draped her arms gently about his waist, her cheek pressed against his back.

"You do not have need to go. Stay yet awhile, for the sun is not yet risen," Lasbelin said in an alluring tone. To Voronwë, she sounded as young and sad as a maiden and he laughed softly, taking her hands and turning to face her, a smile upon his lips and a light of happiness in his eyes.

"You must forgive me, my bride" he replied, in a playful way. "I must go; with or without your blessing!"

Lasbelin laughed, and touched his cheek softly. "You have my blessing," she said. Voronwë deepened his smile, for her laughter was as music to his ears; beautiful and heavenly, uplifting and divine. He looked on her with great love in his eyes, and he wondered if he could love anything more about her. He loved the way the sun caught her hair, he loved the way she spoke, the way she moved and the light that shone so brightly in her eyes. He loved her so much it ached, and he thought how he would have lived without her. The very notion was unthinkable, for she bettered him. Yet, as they stood and stared at each other for that long while, Lasbelin's smile faded a bit and fear came into her eyes, which were glazed slightly with foresight. Something felt very wrong to her, and for a moment, coldness passed over her heart. Voronwë was puzzled and his brow furrowed upon looking at her.

"Is something the matter?" he asked, now worried.

"I do not want you to go," she replied flatly, her eyes wide and pleading, and her hands were placed on his chest. She feared for him and the company he was to depart with, coming and going around these parts as such days have been. Recently, the King implored her father to take care in the city, for he feared some unknown evil stirring once again in Middle-Earth.

"Please," she begged again. Voronwë only took her hand from his chest and caressed it.

"I will return," said he, "And you will see that your fears prove false," And even as his tone was comforting, she hid her fears and trusted him, though she still felt it was wrong. With that Voronwë kissed her softly, striving to reassure her, and she responded fully to the kiss, for to her it had been too long since she had last been in his arms. They had been that way for some time before someone cleared their throat, and the two parted from each other, looking toward the intruder. It was Lasbelin's brother Arion come to retrieve Voronwë. Upon seeing that he was trying to hide a smile, she wondered how long he had been standing there.

"We are making ready to leave," he said semi-intrigued, and with some hesitation, he turned to leave with a nod and a hint of a smirk. Voronwë with one last look at Lasbelin, gathered his things and left her to dress, for she would join the others of the city at their farewell.

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Lasbelin stood on the stairs of the main hall with her mother and father as the company of fifteen men stood before them, and the people of Nuorn standing among the trees and houses. Among the fifteen along with Voronwë were her brother, their good friends Eldamir and Dorlas, and many others that she knew well from childhood, though most were friends more in part to her father Valandil, for they were much older than she. Her father had sent out the men he most trusted, and Voronwë stood proud among them, honored that he was chosen by the Lord of the city at such a young stature. Valandil was saying a few words of parting, but Lasbelin did not listen, for her gaze was fixed on Voronwë and his to hers. She could not hide the fear that now arose in her stronger than ever, despite the look of solace on Voronwë's face, and she forced herself to smile, however weakly. After her father had spoken, they descended the last steps and blessed the assemblage with _oiolairë_, the bough of return. Lasbelin approached her dearest friend Dorlas, who smiled broadly. She touched his cheek and then her heart, as he did the same.

"May this bough bring you home safely, my friend," She said, and turned to Arion. "My dear brother," She began, and grasped his hands. "Take care and return swiftly."

When she came to Voronwë, he looked on her with love and reassurance in his eyes. She set her hand upon his cheek, and he leaned into the touch, placing his own hand over hers and turning his face to kiss her palm. From her neck she took the necklace he had given her and placed it upon him. Confusion masked his face as to ask why she had given him her gem.

"Return it to me upon your homecoming," She said softly, knowing that if the necklace returned safely, he would as well. Voronwë nodded, touching the necklace that lay on his chest. Thus turning to mount his horse, he took one last look on his beloved before they departed.

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The Guard traveled swiftly through the back roads in the woods all that morning and well into the afternoon. At the head of the company rode Eldamir, Arion, Voronwë, and Dorlas, talking amongst themselves, as heads of the Guard. Arion, while on the subject of Lasbelin, turned to Voronwë and said to him in all earnest, "I thank the Valar everyday that my sister has found her one true love at a young age." He smiled at Voronwë, for he was dear to Arion as a brother, and he soon would be, come the fall season. Voronwë returned the smile, and he perceived that Arion knew of his great love for Lasbelin.

"As do I, my friend! Often I wonder if the Gods were aware they have bestowed such great fortune upon me," he replied with a laugh.

"Fortunate you are, indeed," added Dorlas. "She is the fairest maid and dearest friend one could hope for."

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The company traveled for nearly three days with little rest, for they did not have need. They were still nearly 100 miles from Esgaroth as they traveled closer to the Old Forest Road. An air of stillness fell over the wood and unsettled the travelers. No sound could be heard, save the wind that played at the treetops.

Dorlas, who was elected to flank the company, sensed the danger first. He peered about his surroundings, straining his keen Elf ears for any sound. At first he heard none, but suddenly to his left he heard a whisper on the still air. He nudged his horse to quicken pace and fell in step beside Arion.

"My lord," Dorlas began. "I believe we are not alone."

But before Arion could signal the others, a dagger thrown from the side hurled through the air and punctured Dorlas straight through the neck. He fell from his stallion with a cry, and the other horses let out frightened whinnies and reared as shouts from both sides revealed men dressed in red and black with scarfed faces came rushing down the hills toward the Elves. Arion began shouting orders for the men on foot to ready their bows as he and Voronwë and Arion dismounted and unsheathed their swords. Many of the Haradrim and Easterlings were shot down at once, but still the others kept on. Eldamir, Arion, and Voronwë fought side by side and aided each other when there were unknown aggressors from behind. But in such an instance they were split up when several men came between them, and Voronwë was left alone while the others fought together. A large man came at him, and Voronwë blocked his blow, disarming him and knocking him on the ground with a backhanded hit. Looking into the Harad's black eyes when he turned to face him, Voronwë saw that they flicked behind, and a shadow formed on the ground. With the quickness of his Elven reflexes, Voronwë moved his head just in time to miss the swing of a sword from behind. The mistake he made was turning his back to beset the assaulter. A malicious grin spread across the face of the first man as he grabbed a dagger from his tunic and stabbed Voronwë in the back just under his heart, twisting the blade. Searing pain ran through his chest as he felt the dagger leave, and he gasped for air. A little ways off, Arion pulled his sword from the body of an Easterling immediately, and turned with shock in his eyes.

"Voronwë!" He bellowed, and rushed to him, fighting off several men who would have hewn Voronwë as he stood motionless.

Before him and behind him, Voronwë faintly heard the men with whom he fought fall from being pierced by Elven arrows. Everything to him was surreal, and yells of his name could be heard from Arion. His right hand clutched at his chest, and when he lifted it he saw that it was drenched in his own blood. It was a strange thing indeed for his eyes, and his body went cold at the sight. Feeling like he could no longer stand, he fell to his knees, letting out shuddering breaths until he felt arms about him urging him to lay back. Through darkening eyes he saw Arion examining the wound with a mix of anger, pain and confusion on his face, and tears in his eyes. His brow was knit in wrath, and dirt was mingled with sweat over his face from the fighting that still went on about them. Voronwë looked at Arion with sadness, and he struggled to speak but Arion stopped him.

"Do not move," he said softly, trying to staunch the wound. The fighting around them ceased as the small band of men retreated and fled their attack on the Elves. Now Eldamir joined Arion while the others tended to the dead. Regret filled the elder Elf's face, for it was he who persuaded Valandil to ask Voronwë to join the company on their journey to Esgaroth.

Try as he might, Voronwë could not muster the strength to say what so desperately needed to be said: that he was sorry he would not be the brother to Arion that he always wanted to be, and that he would not be able to care for Lasbelin. The tears choked his breathing as he thought the last, her sweet face coming to him now filled with grief at his loss. The sadness of how he would not be there for her was more than he could bear. Arion could say nothing but shake his head in sorrow at what was happening. It was more than unjust for Voronwë and his sister to be parted; they were to be wed in two seasons. The fading Elf slowly brought his bloodied fingers to the necklace bound about his neck. Arion nodded, understanding what he must do. At that moment Voronwë's breathing increased in soft, shuddering and dragging breaths, and he looked about him in a dream-like fashion.

"No. Voronwë, stay with me!" He could hear Arion call, but everything faded to whiteness and then to black, and his breathing stopped.

Arion looked on Voronwë's limp body that hung in his arms with wide and shocked eyes full of tears that threatened to fall; and a single teardrop trickled down the lifeless flesh of Voronwë's cheek. Lifting his hand which felt so heavy, Arion closed Voronwë's eyelids, not wishing to look at the glazed over stare that gaped at nothing. _So this is death_ Arion found himself thinking. He had never seen death before, as he was too young for the wars that plagued Middle-Earth in the First Age. He looked at Eldamir solemnly and in disbelief. Nevertheless he knew what this had meant. "Go with Eru," he said softly, and kissed Voronwë's brow gently.

"I am sorry, my friend," Eldamir said quietly to Arion, placing a supportive hand upon his shoulder. Arion could say nothing in reply for the shock he felt.

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**Author's Note:**

_Sniff..._Sorry for killing him off. But I had to in order to get the story going. :( Thanks for the lovely reviews, and keep on reading!


	4. Whispers in the Night

**Title:** Of Love and Loss

**Author:** Leaonna

**Disclaimer:** Once again, I thank J.R.R Tolkien for his Muse-like inspiration.

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_Chapter 3: Whispers in the Night_

"Oh, how lovely you look, dearest," Lady Luinil sighed deeply. Lasbelin returned the wide smile to her mother's reflection in the mirror they both stood before. Earlier that afternoon she had sent for her daughter to her chambers. There she presented Lasbelin with an exquisite gown of light gray, a perfect match for her eyes.

"I wore this when I wed your father," Luinil had told her. "I would like very much for you to wear it for _your_ wedding."

"Oh, it is beautiful," Lasbelin gasped, taking the gown carefully from her mother's hands. It was made from the softest material and laced with such intricate bead work as only an Elven seamstress could accomplish. "It would gladden my heart to wear such a garment. I have not the words to thank you."

Luinil smiled, embracing her daughter and giving a light kiss to her brow. "I will be well thanked when you are blissfully wed to Voronwë, my child."

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It took the Elven Guard a day to clean and prepare the bodies, and four days to carry the biers of the five that were slain back to Nuorn. When they were spotted coming that afternoon from the tower of the city, bells were rung and Lasbelin who was in the garden of her house came to the green where her father, mother, and many other Elves in the city were gathered in curiosity, for it was not time for the company to return.

The sight that met her was the solemnity of her brother and Eldamir as they carried the bier of Voronwë past and set him down among the flowers. Tears stung at the back of her eyes, for she could not blink and take them from her beloved's face. Once it was so full of life, now it was pale and ashen. She wished more than anything to run to Voronwë, but she could not move from the spot where she now stood. Her mother, with tear filled eyes, raised her hand to her mouth in despair. A scream had formed in Lasbelin's throat but all she could manage to get out were heart retching sobs.

"No…" she whispered. Lasbelin's knees gave out and she fell to the ground, the world around her growing bleak and meaningless. Kneeling, she placed her hand on her heart for fear it would break. She expected to find there the cool, reassuring touch of the necklace Voronwë had given to her, but she found nothing and closed her eyes, letting the tears trickle down. The sobs from the families of the others that were slain could be heard, and a rustle nearby her captured Lasbelin's attention. Glancing at the ground ahead of her, she found a pair of green boots. She looked up with tear-filled eyes, and discovered it was her brother looking on her with a sad and forlorn expression. She shook her head in disbelief, and to Arion his sister looked helpless and lost, and his heart grieved; for her and for Voronwë. He held his hand out to help her up and she took it, rising slowly from the ground, weak and threatening to fall again. From his travel pouch he took her necklace and placed it in her hand.

"He wished for me to return this to you," he said. At this, Lasbelin's lip quivered and the stone was blinded by her tears as she went into the arms of her brother and wept freely.

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Evening was approaching, and three messengers of Aetheoran, the elected Lord of Esgaroth by the King of Dale, walked through the peaceful yet mysterious forest of Mirkwood on errand to the city of Nuorn. They looked in wonder at the wood, for though it was heavily cumbered with trees, their leafed boughs did not shroud the fading light. Aldamir was of the three most enchanted with the silent tension the forest held. He was dark of hair as the others, but fairer of face and with striking pale blue eyes like his mother's. She was an Elf-friend akin and named Aldamir in the fashion of the Elves.

Yet Arveleg, who was not comfortable with the silence, spoke up to his captain in a hushed tone as though in such a wood as this, one needed to speak that way.  
"Are you certain we have come by the right way, my lord? Did not your father tell us to be wary in the forest of Mirkwood?" Aldamir gazed about the Elfinesse of the forest, and a little ways off his keen ears could hear voices as clear and beautiful and angelic as silver bells uplifted in song. He looked on Arveleg and Onodher and smiled.

"We have come by the right way, lest my ears are deceived."

And Aldamir led them on and it was not long before they came upon the Elves, walking and singing among the trees. Their song was eerie to the ears of the men, and it sounded sad and lamentable. The three passed through, their feelings changing suddenly to that of the sadness of the Elves, for they felt the grief that emanated from the music. The elder of the Elves looked on Aldamir and his company in dismay, piercing their mortal gazes with their bright Elvish eyes until the others could no longer stand the light that shone so deeply within them, and looked away.

It was then that several warrior guards appeared out of the trees; Elvish swords, spears, and bows made ready, and pointed at Aldamir and his men, blocking their way. One of them, dark of hair and of eye spoke, but did not relent his weapon.

"Not often do we suffer those of your kind to pass our borders," he charged.

"Calm yourself, Henduil," said a voice from behind the others. Arion stepped out from behind the dark elf with his hand raised to silence him. He approached Aldamir, looking upon him with keen gray eyes that would penetrate his very soul.

"What is your errand, mortal, in the woods of Mirkwood?" he asked, his face set grim.

Aldamir paused for a moment, looking about his surroundings, and noticed with a frown that the elves singing before had disappeared. At length, Aldamir replied. "I am Aldamir son of Aetheoran, sent by his lordship for beg of aid when your host did not arrive within a fortnight."

Realization dawned on the face of he-Elf before him, and he narrowed his eyes. "And it is because of your need of aid that five of our kin lay dead. Great they were, and not least of all Voronwë the Steadfast," The guard lashed out wrathfully, and the fire in his eyes struck fear in Aldamir's heart. "Had the company set out earlier, you would not have needed to have traveled here, for they would have reached you in time. I wish that were so. But we were taken unaware by Haradrim and Easterlings, your foes, and their lives were forfeit needlessly." Arion paused here, searching Aldamir's eyes and found pity mingled with grief. Unwilling, Arion relented his sword, as did the others with their weapons. "Your search would have been in vain. Without our aid, you would not have found the city; its path is well hidden among the trees. But...I will lead you thither, and we shall see how Lord Valandil and Lady Luinil receive you."

And thus with a wary eye on Aldamir, Arveleg, and Onodher, Arion turned with his men clad in deep green behind, and led them in and out of the woven trees. They went on for some time, until it was completely dark and the only light present was the faint lucidness of the Elven guards. The dark was most unsettling to Aldamir, and as he heard the soft whispers not of the wind through the tree tops and unusual sounds in the wild of the forest, he grasped the hilt of his sword if needed. Though in this wood, it was not needed, for it was protected by the power of the Elves from all lurking evil. It was then that blue lamps began lighting the way and before the company were tall oak and beech trees, their uppermost branches formed into an arch over a path that twisted and branched off into different directions quite a ways down. The light from the lamps were faint, but Aldamir could barely see steps were carved into the solidity of the ground. In amazement, he stepped down onto the first step, following Arion around the base of a rather unusually large tree. He was speaking in Elvish to Eldamir, a fellow guard beside him who was silver of hair and eye. Their backward glances made Aldamir, Arveleg, and Onodher quite uncomfortable.

At long last they came to the end of the earthen staircase and came to a branched path. After taking so many ways that Aldamir had lost count, they finally came to a wall that seemed to stretch on for leagues, but of course this was in the dark. It glimmered in the lamp light. In the center of the wall that they now faced was the entryway to the city. There was an open chapel canopy above it, and there walking slowly were Elves, glistening in the night. A tower tall and fair could be seen from the outskirts of the city from where they stood, and from it soft bells rang solemnly. And within the city voices could be heard singing in lament.

It seemed as though the entered a central green, where on the sides fair Elven houses were built at the bases of the trees but did not hinder them. Aldamir could see opening in the roofs where the tree trunks grew out. And with those houses were others not in trees, and such a home was the great hall, which housed the Lord and Lady of the city. Candles flickered in the windows amid the dim blue of the Elvish lamps, and also in the green where it seemed many people of the city were gathered. And Aldamir soon saw why. For amid the beauty and finesse of the sight, there lay five biers of Elven men lying peacefully among an array of sweet smelling flowers cascading from their resting place. They were raised high and the biers were set upon stone. Aldamir looked back on Arveleg and Onodher to see that they too were looking at the fallen.

As they were led closer, the men could see that they were fair even in death. Aldamir felt eyes on him and his men passing through, and it seemed to them it took much longer to cross the central green under the sight of so many incessant gazes. But as Aldamir walked past one bier, he looked upon the sight and his heart was moved. The Elf that lay dead seemed to him as twenty summers young, no older than he in mortal years looked. He was fairer in the aspect of his youth to the others, of whom were elder; his skin pallid, but comely nonetheless. A garland of _elanor_ and _niphredil_ lay at his brow, and stray flower petals were strewn about his body. Looking up from the Elf's raiment as that of a fallen Elf-lord, Aldamir's gaze was set on a maiden looking over the body with her hand clasped to his, gazing lovingly into the face that Aldamir knew was once full of life. She sensed someone's stare upon her, and looked up slowly to meet Aldamir's eyes, which were full of pity. To him she seemed strong, yet also lost and scared as a child, with her face tear-streaked behind a veil. And in his mind Aldamir named her _Níniel_, tear-maiden, for her grief pierced his heart.

Arion and Eldamir turned and bowed their head to the maiden as they walked, pausing for a moment to rest their hands on the young elf's bier, then they continued to lead the three to the stairs of the great hall. They climbed them and were led into a vast room, whose birch walls were decorated with carvings of Elvish woodwork. At the ceiling there were lamps that shone through holes worked into the wooden holders, and they set a dreamlike light about the hall. Their footsteps echoed, and the men looked in wonder as they came upon the lord and lady of the city. They sat in high backed chairs on a set of steps, and looked down upon Aldamir, Arveleg, and Onodher regally. Lady Luinil was indeed very beautiful to behold, and the pale skin framed by her dark hair was luminous. Her husband at her side was equally beautiful, as all Elves were, and his silvery hair was accented by the silver hair circlet that glowed about him as a crown of light. They were both dressed in extravagant midnight blue clothing, and their robes flowed down the marble steps.

Rising when Arion and Eldamir presented the men, the lord and lady towered tall above them. It seemed as though they waited for the strangers to speak, and when Aldamir began, Lord Valandil raised a hand from being clasped with the other before him.

"I know why you have come here, for your mind has told all. Had your father given us more time, we would have sent more of the Guard to your aid," he said after lowering his hand. Gathering all his will to him, Aldamir spoke.

"The besetment of our city grows more often, and what little men in the garrison protecting it falter. The line of Hador's blood grows thin and they will risk no aid to us. The Elves of Mirkwood are the nearest ally we have, and if we do not act now, more grievous happenings will occur." He spoke greatly despite his young years, though his words awakened anger in the heart of Valandil, for was it not he and his people who lost five brave souls, one of whom was to be his daughter's husband? Before he could speak out in wrath, though, a voice interrupted him.

"Your words are proud, Aldamir son of Aetheoran, and allies to you we will remain," Lady Luinil said, filling the silent ringing of Aldamir's words with her melodious tone. "Yet we cannot convey more men to die so soon amid such grief. Our time of mourning has not yet passed. Do you not know what has befallen us?" Aldamir lowered his gaze, and Arion looked on him with still a wary eye. Pity and sorrow found its way to Luinil's kind eyes. There was a bittersweet sadness about her that the men found moving, and they held her in reverence. "Your mother was an Elf-friend long ago by your standards, and we loved her dearly. Therefore you and your company shall stay here by the grace of your mother, and we will talk no more of this dark business until the morning."

Lady Luinil stepped down amongst them, and went to Arion, whose face was grave, quietly giving to him instructions as to the housing of the guests. Aldamir's attention however, was averted when a soft, rushing feel as the wind whispers came to his ears. Turning to the sound that echoed ethereally through the hall, he saw the Elvish procession ascend the stairs, moving so gracefully it was as though they floated. It was again that Aldamir laid eyes on Lasbelin, and he saw her full beauty, for her face was now not veiled. She was garbed in a dark gown that moved with her every refined step. She held his gaze, bright and watery gray eyes matching his stare from a radiant face. Her grief filled his entire heart, and he felt the indelible loss she had and also the great love that died within her. As soon as she lowered her eyes, the emotions subsided, and Aldamir was left feeling empty.

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**Author's Note:**

The chapters just keep getting longer and longer (but that's a good thing)! I hope you all enjoyed the introduction of Aldamir into the story. We'll just have to see what's planned for everyone. Continue to R&R! It would make my day!


	5. Dreams of White and Gray

**Title:** Of Love and Loss

**Author:** Leaonna

**Disclaimer:** All credit goes to J.R.R Tolkien, for his great masterpiece that I now write upon.

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_Chapter 4: Dreams of White and Gray_

**Sonnet 71**

_No longer mourn for me when I am dead  
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell  
Give warning to the world that I am fled  
From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell.  
Nay, if you read this line, remember not  
The hand that writ it, for I love you so,  
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,  
If thinking on me then should make you woe.  
O if, I say, you look upon this verse,  
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,  
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse,  
But let your love even with my life decay,  
Lest the wise world should look into your moan,  
And mock you with me after I am gone._

-William Shakespeare

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Lasbelin lay in the bed of her chamber, the cream colored linen wrapped tightly in her fists that were clenched with grief and anger. Hot tears trickled down her cheeks, but she did not move to wipe them away. She lay on her side, trying to stifle the deep sobs that came from her with her fist, but it resulted to no avail as they echoed throughout the room. Thoughts ran mercilessly throughout her mind. Her dear and sweet Voronwë. Why had he not heeded her warnings? She had finally found love only to have it ripped away from her, and the feeling of betrayal plagued her. Yet these thoughts only made her sob harder, thinking on his loving face; the last of him she had seen, other than the sickly and cold shell that once was Voronwë. It was difficult to believe that it was merely three weeks since Voronwë lived; to Lasbelin it seemed as though all the ages of the world has passed.

Lasbelin turned to rest on her back, and pushed the dark tendrils of her hair from her sticky, tear-streaked face. Her eyes looking upward fell to the Elf maid that was carved into the wooden headboard above her bed, seemingly watching over her as if for protection while she slept. Her arms were outstretched as though she were casting a spell of safety about the area. Lasbelin hadn't known it before, but the maiden's face was sad and knowing as she looked upon her, and a calmness came about Lasbelin. Her whole body was weary from weeping, and when she closed her eyes, she gave into the warm security of sleep washing over her in waves.

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That night as Lasbelin slept, Voronwë came to her in a dream. In it, she was surrounded by the forest of Mirkwood, for Lasbelin knew it even in her subconscious, but everything was white about her and she could faintly make anything out. She felt as thought she was awake; real and tangible, and she looked around for some sign of life. An odd, warm sensation came over her, and she worried no more where she or anyone else was, and closed her eyes. She heard a soft sound and something that rustled her hair as the wind would, and suddenly to her surprise she felt lips very lightly kiss her own. She knew him; she knew his touch that was barely upon her now. And she did not want to open her eyes for fear he would not be there. Yet her heart that disagreed with her mind told her to open them.

When she did, Voronwë indeed was there, his face but inches from hers, and he stood before Lasbelin dressed in elaborate white robes and at his brow shone a silver circlet. To her, he looked as an Elf-lord of the west, and the smile that was on his face was serene and tranquil. Lasbelin gazed at him, her eyes large and bright with incredulity. Seeing him now, even in a dream, was dreadful, for she saw it as a mockery that he was gone and she was now left alone to dwell on him only in memory. She gasped faintly in gladness as she felt the warm touch of his hands taking up hers to his lips and kissing them, his loving eyes never leaving her face. He did not look as though he was real, but his touch was warm and the same as she remembered.

"This cannot be," she exclaimed, apprehensive to tear her eyes away from the apparition before her.

"Oh Lasbelin, how I've missed you so," he said, his voice echoing illusively in her dream world. Yet even so, it calmed her heart to hear him speak as though he had not left.

Lasbelin smiled and laughed ruefully, her eyes filling with tears, remembering the discussion they had just the last night they were together. "It has been three weeks. Have you missed me so much since last we saw one another?" she found herself saying, and the tears stinging at the back of her eyes threatened to choke her words. An involuntary teardrop slid down her face as she blinked, and the image of Voronwë was blurred. All the pain and loneliness that Lasbelin had felt that whole day was in her face, and all Voronwë wished to do was kiss it away. His expression saddened, feeling her grief for the loss of him. To Lasbelin Voronwë had been gone only a short time, but to him it felt like an eternity.

"Why did you leave me?" Lasbelin asked, her eyes pleading and her tone was full of sorrow.

Voronwë raised his hand and caressed her cheek, resting his forehead on hers. "I would never leave you," he said. "I told you that once, and I will keep my word. You must let me go, or I will never be able to rest peacefully in the Halls."

And even at those words Lasbelin's composure was destroyed, and the tears flowed freely now. Her selfishness took hold of her.

"I do not want to be alone," she cried, and Voronwë took her in his arms and kissed her hair as she sobbed into his chest.

"You must not falter now, my love. Your strength is one I have come to admire these many years, and you have had my love unrelenting. You will not be alone and you will live on, just as I will in your heart. I feel we shall meet again and I wish that it not be so, for it will be only in the Holy Halls."

Lasbelin drew her head away from Voronwë's chest, and he held her face gently in his hands, looking longingly at her mouth. But he kissed away her tears, and then moved his lips to her brow, her eyelids, her nose, and finally her lips. It was a slow and passionate kiss, and every ounce of love and hope that Lasbelin possessed she gave to him in that embrace, and she deepened it, wrapping her arms about his neck and running her hands through his soft hair. Voronwë took his hands from her face and placed them about her waist, pulling her body closer to him. Lasbelin could go on like this for an eternity, yet she knew it was his way of saying goodbye. When he slowly broke away, she closed her eyes and shook her head, placing her hands on his shoulders to keep him with her. Yet it was in vain, for she felt his touch fade as he traced his fingers down to the star-shaped pennant she wore for him. "_We will meet again._" Voronwë's voice echoed. Lasbelin's eyes snapped open and she saw his image languish. She cried out to him, but he was gone and she was left alone again. A dark figure loomed to the side of her, witnessing the whole scene, but Lasbelin knew it not.

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Lasbelin drew up her knees to her chest and laid her head in them. The tears still flowed from her eyes and she wondered how long this could go on before she faded away as a result of a broken heart. Voronwë's words still rang clear in her head, as if they meant something more than when they were said at the time. "_...for it will be only in the Holy Halls._" The more she thought about it, the more things became clear.

A new resolve burned in her as she gathered the strength to lift herself from the bed and make her way across the cold floor to the chamber door. She willed herself with every step as she went through the silent house without making a sound. It was then that she came upon her father's chamber, finding the door open, and he was inside.

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Valandil sat in a chair near the balcony deep in thought. All the city slept while he was yet awake, thinking on the brave souls lost, and the regret that filled him for insisting that Voronwë depart with the company to Esgaroth

When he saw movements at his doors, though, he looked up to see that his daughter was there, gazing at him expectantly. Tears shone on her face, and he knew that she had again been crying. The expression upon Valandil's face softened, and he motioned for her to come in. He rose and sat with her on a pillowed settee, and waited for Lasbelin to speak.

"I wish to leave for the Grey Havens, father," she said softly after a long while, with her eyes lowered.

Valandil considered her words for a while until he found some of his own to speak. "Do you wish then, my daughter, to leave your family and the people of this city that you love so dearly because you have felt the bitterness of loss? I do not pretend that I do not hear your sobs at night." He paused and took Lasbelin's face gently in his hands to make her look at him. "I loved Voronwë as my own son and I am deeply grieved by his death, but I do not wish to flee the pain of his passing. He would not want us to dwell on him in thought." He spoke kindly, but Lasbelin was confused and frustrated by his words.

"Do you disprove my will to go to Valinor, my father?" she asked him, her tone growing slightly angry. Yet Valandil kept a cool head, and took her hands up in his to comfort her.

"I will not deny you the light of the Undying Lands, but I say to stay yet, for you are young and have many years to live and abide in Arda that Eru hath wrought for us."

"There is nothing that I have yet to live for," she Lasbelin responded bitterly. "My heart has been borne away to the Halls of Mandos, where I shall soon rest if I do heal myself by quitting these lands." She looked at her father in resolve, and rose to leave him to dwell on her words.

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**Author's Note:**

A shorter chapter, but hopefully a good one, nontheless. :) I had to do a bit of research on this one in The Silmarillion about the Halls of Mandos and what happens to those who die and go there.

Please click the little "go" button and leave your two cents in a review. What would you like to see happen? Are you enjoying the story so far? It will be most helpful to me if you did!


	6. Visions and Councils

**Title:** Of Love and Loss

**Author:** Leaonna

**Disclaimer:** I won't get into all the details, but basically I own nothing having to do with Tolkien Enterprises, though I do think the man was brilliant.

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_Chapter 5: Visions and Councils_

Aldamir sat in the peaceful serenity of Nuorn, listening to the soft sounds of the city and the quiet chirping of the crickets. Arveleg and Onodher went straight to the chambers they were given and slept, for perhaps it was the heavy, lulling scent of the trees mingled with the flowers that made them so. The drowse hit Aldamir as well, but his mind was troubled with the worries of his people and the quietness of the city did not help; it only pressed his thoughts louder against his head. His father grew weaker day by day, and the longer Aldamir tarried here, the more danger he put his city in, for it could not stand an assault with a sickened leader. The truth of the matter was that his father was dying, and Aldamir knew it was so. Therefore, he felt the burden of his duty and it worried him greatly. He did not think himself ready to lead if something should happen to his father.

He shook his head that lay in his hands slightly, and clenched his eyes shut at the very notion. What would he do without his father? He was merely six and twenty, unfit for lordship, and could not even take care of his family let alone a city full of people. A tear of frustration slid down Aldamir's cheek and he let it. And at that moment he thought of his mother. Opening his eyes which were blurred by tears, he was surprised how she had found her way into his mind, for he had not thought on her in years since she had died when he was a young lad of thirteen. But she was there, as beautiful as Aldamir had remembered her; wavy, raven hair and piercing pale blue eyes that matched his own. She always was a vision of loveliness, of safety and warmth, with caring eyes and a loving smile. It seemed that she smiled to him as he pictured her in his mind, knowing and wise, and Aldamir felt calm as his grip on her memory faded. He missed her sorely, for when she was around everything was right and good in the world.

Taking his head from his hands, Aldamir looked up into the trees before him and sighed deeply. The fair trees called to him, as they had before when he first arrived, as if they held some secret they wished to share with him. Aldamir gazed into them, searching for the answers. When they gave none, he closed his weary eyes.

_His cares of before were easily forgotten. Quite a ways off, a looming white haze lay about the forest. When no warning of any sort came to his heart, he resolved to follow, his brow furrowed in a knot of curiosity. Rising from his resting spot on the ground, Aldamir brushed the earth from his tunic and began closing the distance between him forest in front. Entranced by the light that he never took his eyes from, Aldamir found himself trampling through the wood, stumbling in the dips and bends of the ground he walked on. At last when he came upon the eerie glow, he slowed his pace, creeping up behind a tree to gaze from the protection of its trunk. The sight he saw there amazed him, as there were two Elves, a man and a woman, amid the trees of Mirkwood, glistening even brighter in the mist. It was as if they were transparent, as some distant memory from the clutches of time. Aldamir's frown deepened, but he watched them yet. And suddenly as he saw the elf man take the hands of the other, he knew them. It was the Elf-maiden Níniel and the one she wept for that Aldamir had seen upon entering the city. His curiosity grew within him and he was perplexed, for the sight before him could not be so. The Elf was slain. Even so, there they stood, and he in turn continued to gaze at them._

_Although he could not explain or begin to understand why, Aldamir knew them: their names, their lives, everything they were. He looked on the couple and perceived them lovers of the greatest kind, and his heart ached at the sight. They were locked in an evocative embrace, with Lasbelin sobbing into Voronwë's chest. He could not hear the words they spoke but Aldamir knew they were saying goodbye forever, and he was filled with immense melancholy. It was then that with one last kiss, Voronwë began to disappear, touching the jeweled necklace that lay at Lasbelin's throat. When he had fully gone, Lasbelin reached out for him and desperately cried his name. But he was not there, and she was again left alone. Aldamir's heart turned towards her then, drawn to the sad beauty she possessed. And still in his mind did he call her Níniel. But as she faded, so did the world around Aldamir, and he felt the dreadful feeling of falling into blackness_.

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Valandil lay abed watching the fair morning sunrise, while Luinil slept peacefully beside him. Thoughts of his and Lasbelin's talk of before plagued his mind. His attention altered when Luinil rustled in her sleep. Valandil looked upon her with love and stroked her hair until a pang of guilt hit in his chest, for his daughter would never have what he did. He felt for her, just as greatly as he feared for her, as it was not common for an elf to learn to love for a second time. The way the elves love is whole and undying as is their life, and when they give their hearts, they give them fully. Yet Valandil did not wish for Lasbelin to sail to Valinor. She was much too young and he felt it was not her time; still did she have much to live for in this Middle-Earth. Sighing a deep, troubled sigh, he closed his eyes and prayed to the Valar to grant his daughter's soul peace and to guide her down the right path.

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The sun's morning light crept over the tops of the trees in Nuorn, and Aldamir sat in a high-backed Elven chair among Valandil and Lady Luinil that next morning in their outside chamber. After having recounted all that had happened in the past few days to them, Aldamir sat in thought, the odd dream of last night reoccurring in his mind. What strange magic had worked itself upon him that he should dream of such things? But it was the hurt that was felt during the dream that had stayed with him. It was so intoxicating that it took hold of his entire being and he could think of nothing else. His eyes fell on Lasbelin who sat beside her father and mother, and he wondered if his feelings that he had experienced in the dream were real, or if they were by some trickery of his mind. She was clad in a light-green gown that fell in the right places and flowed to the base of the chair in which she sat. On the upper sleeves of her arms, intricate patterns of leafless tree branches were embroidered in silver, and the sleeves opened at the crook of the elbow, showing a thin gray fabric of an underdress covering her bare arms. She looked an apparition with her dark hair twirled into a braided circle at the crown of her head. Aldamir, while looking on her, perceived her strong and yet delicate, for her eyes showed much of the agony that she was burdened with. They were downcast and dazed, staring at the floor in a defeated sort of way. When she felt his eyes raking her form, she looked up and met his gaze full on, only to flitter away when her father spoke.

"And what of these messengers that are sent to your city?" the Elf lord asked.

"Haradrim and Easterlings come to Esgaroth nearly every week, outwardly renouncing their once wayward behavior. They speak of the great lord whom they live under in the Iron Hills, who has forgiven them their betrayal of this world. Already they have brought half the Kingdom of Dale with them."

Valandil sensed the danger in the young man's response. The men of Dale were weakened, and the Elf lord had no knowledge of such a leader. Such skills of persuasion were unheard of, save in those of the corrupted Maiar. He was resolved to send word to his brother King Thranduil without delay, as this news unsettled him. "You tell me that your father is ill?" he asked Aldamir, his attention turning from the dark business that loomed in his mind.

"Yes, my lord. He is with fever," Aldamir replied sadly. "He grows weaker every day, and I fear for him and for our people," Valandil detected desperateness in his voice, and he only nodded solemnly, for his people did not know nor feel sickness as it was not bestowed upon them.

"And what of your sister Rothelen?" Luinil's soft voice asked, and Aldamir knew she was trying to be gentle on the subject. "You are far too young to even begin a lordship, and she is a maid of no more than twenty years." Aldamir turned his gaze down from their eyes, realizing the truth though he did not want to. His father will die, and he would be left alone to deal with the burdens he left behind.

Lasbelin looked on him in a new light, as he shared the same thing in common. For in him she saw what she felt; lost, scared and alone, and she understood him better for it. The silence that filled the chamber gave Luinil her answer; this young man of Esgaroth had no where else to go. "We shall send your kinsman forth with all due speed back to Esgaroth, if that is your wish, to see how your father fares, and you may go with them. But it would ease my heart if you would bring your sister under our care, for I feel it is my duty to protect the children of Elenna in such difficult times. You shall go when you see fit, and we shall send a company along with you to ensure safety on your journey." Luinil responded to Aldamir, and he looked back to her. It seemed that everything she said was so light and gentle that she could never make one thing sound cruel or hurtful. For this he was thankful. He found a smile playing at his lips, and Luinil knew that he would agree.

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**Author's Note:**

I didn't quite know what to do with Aldamir, so I let him privy to Lasbelin's little dream-vision. The magic of the Elves and all, right:D Anyway, sorry if it was a bit cheesy...it helped gain perspective for him.

And what is this "dark business" you wonder? Read on to find out, and review please!


	7. Hauntings of the Past

**Title:** Of Love and Loss

**Author:** Leaonna

**Disclaimer:** Basically I own nothing having to do with Tolkien Enterprises or his family, so this story is just the inventive workings of my imagination.

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_Chapter 6: Hauntings of the Past_

Henduil was a descendant of the Teleri, and he was a dark Elf, being so in both look and manner. He kept to himself mostly, and though he was refined and beautiful, many saw in him a crooked darkness. It is said that he loved no one save his brother Dorlas, but the truth of this lay only in his thoughts, for though none would think anything upon seeing so, his eye often fell on Lasbelin. She was one of the few who was not wholly distrusting of him, but there was something about him that made her inwardly writhe in his company. Yet she would endure the feeling because she pitied him. But the truth was that Lasbelin loved Henduil not at all; and in knowing his thought of her she loved him less, but she would not show her distaste in his presence.

It seemed at times that it was only his kin that loved and understood him, and even Dorlas could seldom read much of Henduil's thought, for although the two brothers shared a distinct bond, Henduil hid his heart so few could read it, unless it was Lasbelin. It is commonly known that news of death comes to kin on swift wings, and long before the company bore home the bodies of those that had fallen, Henduil knew of his brother's fate, for sadness overtook him and bitterness soon found its way into his heart. Wrath awakened in him also, and his dark manner was even more grave at the loss of the one thing he had ever gained.

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There were no sounds in the hall other than the echoing of Rothelen's footsteps and the swishing of her velvet blood red skirts against the silence. The guards that stood at the entrance behind her looked so solemn as if someone had died. But it was almost always like that in such days as these; quiet and desolate. So much hardship upon her people. Rothelen saw the hope and willingness to persevere deteriorate in their faces. And as her brother Aldamir had left her to be alone and to tend to their father while he traveled with Arveleg and Onodher to Nuorn, she shared in that same feeling. She did not know what she would do if they were to be attacked. The old servants of Morgoth grew restless at the time of peace without a leader, and ran through the free lands pillaging and burning what they would. Others, such as the messengers sent to their city with frequency, were on the path to so called forgiveness. This lord they spoke of in the Iron Hills unsettled Rothelen. She did not enjoy feeling so helpless. It was not in her nature. Though she was surrounded by men in a world where they ruled, she was a free spirit and strong of will, and did not succumb to anything that she did not believe in. She missed her mother greatly, for she had been a vision of strength with her fair face always proud.

Despite all the thoughts that ran through her head, Rothelen swiftly carried the tray of food meant for her father into his chamber, passing two more guards; Minardil and Galedas, as she entered through. They smiled at her, and she back at them, as these were two she had known from childhood. The chamber was dark as the lavish and heavy red curtains were drawn to shroud the partial daylight. It was never fully sunny anymore; always gray and clouded with darkness. Rothelen set the tray on his bedside table, folded her hands in front of her, and looked on her father sleeping peacefully. He usually did not sleep in such a way, for he often had bouts of restlessness from the fever that troubled him. A sheen of sweat was on his face and neck, but he held a tranquil appearance and he did not seem as one that was sick. Rothelen smiled at his innocence, and went to his bedside, sitting softly as not to wake him. At looking upon him, involuntary tears formed in her emerald eyes, but she did not let them fall. Instead she wiped them away and laid a hand upon her father's, which was resting on his rising and falling chest. His hand was so pallid compared to hers, which was healthy and tanned from the outdoors. She looked back on his face framed by his graying hair, and saw that he stirred from her touch. Rothelen noticed then how much she looked like her father. She had the same eyes, and face shape, the same proud spirit as well as hair like he had long ago; light brown with soft waves.

The older man's eyelids fluttered open and saw his daughter leaning above him watching him sleep. He smiled at her and squeezed her hand.

"You are like a hawk, Rothelen, watching my every move," Aetheoran said in a soft voice, and he chuckled as he said it. Rothelen too laughed, as it did her well to see her father in high spirits.

"How else am I to see that you are getting well?" She replied mockingly, and took her hand from his, helping him to sit up. Reaching for the tray she had brought in, she turned and set it about her father. "They say you should eat more stew to make you stronger." Rothelen said more seriously this time. And indeed that was what she brought: stew, bread and drink, even though it was mid-morning. "Where is your brother?" Aetheoran asked, sounding raspy, while starting on his meal. "Has he returned yet?"

"No father, he has not. He left five days ago and should be returning soon." Aetheoran nodded slowly, and Rothelen after patting his arm, rose and made to leave the way she came. But he father's voice stopped her, and she looked over her shoulder to face him.

"Must you leave?" he asked, struggling to sit up further. "I would rather enjoy your company." Smiling whole-heartedly, Rothelen nodded and turned to retrieve a chair from the corner of the room, setting it beside his bed. She sat and watched her father look at her with a smile upon his face. At length, she got curious at his behavior, and raised her eyebrows in a questioning look.

"What is it?" she asked him.

"Oh, it's nothing." Aetheoran said hoarsely, looking away and waving a hand dismissively at her. He met her gaze again after a moment and continued. "You remind me so much of your mother that it is startling. You have her spirit." Rothelen's face softened.

"You miss her still?" she asked. Her father nodded.

"Everyday, my child. It is untoward that I should be married late to so young of a bride to see her death before mine." Aetheoran said sadly, looking away from his daughter painfully. "Which is why I worry I will not see you to be married. Is there not a respectable young man to whom you would willingly wed yourself?" Rothelen was so taken aback at these words that she stumbled for something to say.

"But I am not yet ripe by our people's standards to become a bride." She exclaimed to her father. He looked to her and chuckled, noting the expression upon her face.

"Well, if I must say so, my dear, you resemble something of an awestruck fish after it has been pulled from its home. It is not well for a beautiful face such as yours to carry that expression." Rothelen set her lips and shook her head in reprimand, making Aetheoran look to the heavens and throw up his hands. "I am an old man," he simply said. "I am getting no younger. I wish to hear the laughter of my grandchildren fill these halls one day." He smiled at his daughter who raised herself from the chair and kissed him on the forehead.

"Quiet," She said, smiling to herself and turning to leave. "You need your rest, though you seem to be in higher spirits." And she left her father to sleep further. Once outside the chamber door, she was stopped by Galedas.

"How does he fare?" He asked, grasping Rothelen's elbow gently.

"He is well enough to mock me, if that is what you wonder." She responded, making Galedas smile and chuckle, though she in turn did not. "I can only hope that he gets better. He is in a fair mood now, but I can still see the sickness in his eyes."

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"You are much too quiet as of late, little brother." Dorlas said to Henduil as they sat by the brook in the woods of Mirkwood, cooling themselves in the shade of the trees. Bows and quivers full of arrows lay beside them, as the two young Elves had been hunting for the great feast that was to be held in the city to welcome the return of Lord Valandil's children. "_May Kementári have mercy on us for slaughtering those of her precious works._" Dorlas had said earlier at mid-day upon slaying three beasts, but Henduil said nothing of his and asked not for her forgiveness.

"Henduil?" Dorlas repeated, looking his brother in the eye. Henduil met his gaze but hid his thoughts deep in his mind, for Dorlas had the kind heart of their mother and could read into the souls of those that were troubled, if he wished. "You seem as though some spell of longing has been cast upon you." he continued. It was the worry in the voice of Dorlas that compelled Henduil to speak, however reluctantly.

"Would you have me answer plainly?" he asked, and Dorlas nodded. After a pause, Henduil continued. "You aim true that it is a spell of longing that has come over me. But it is also the longing without having that makes me distant."

"Longing without having? You speak in riddles, my brother. But certainly then it must be a maiden that makes your keen mind removed," the other replied softly. "What is this fair creature's name?"

Henduil smiled faintly, though the smile did not reach his eyes. "She is fair indeed. Her name does speak of the falling of the leaves in autumn, but she is more dark and beautiful than an evening in spring."

"If my ears are not deceived, you speak of Lasbelin, and that is a high aim to say the least." Dorlas replied, and Henduil nodded solemnly.

"High indeed, brother, but not hopeless. Though I do forebode some opposition soon awaits me." A slight rustle of the leaves drew the attention of the two Elves to Eldamir, head sentinel of the Guard, who approached to the side of them.

"Word has come from the city tower," he began. "Arion and the Lady Lasbelin are come."

Dorlas stood saying, "Then we shall go out and meet them." Henduil, however, was hesitant. "Will you not come?" Dorlas asked him with wondering in his keen eyes.

"Nay, I will not, for one must bring these beasts to the halls to be prepared." With that Henduil fared them well, though when the two left through the trees, he followed them, keeping far behind them as they went. When Dorlas and Eldamir stopped in the cover of the trees, they waited for the signal from Arion; a shrill whistle. And Henduil paused also, tarrying until they had stepped out into the clearing before moving closer. Concealing himself behind a tree, he peered around it and caught a glimpse of Lasbelin embracing his brother as one of her own. Envy filled Henduil's heart, for he desired her embrace. Though he wished to look on, he knew he could not linger. Thus making his way back to the brook swiftly as possible, he managed the beasts onto the horses, and led them back to the city wall to prepare for the feast. And even in that day did Henduil's foresight prove true, for it was then that Lasbelin meet Voronwë, and all darkness that was seeded in his soul flourished and grew for sixteen years.

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The sun was descending over the tops of the trees, and would soon be fading to the night. Lasbelin walked through the quieted city arrayed in a midnight blue that would soon match the velvet darkness of the sky. Tomorrow would her brother and a small band of the Guard leave to accompany Aldamir in his travel home, and for a brief moment Lasbelin saw this as a resolution; a way to the Havens. That would be her contrivance, for her brother would bend his will if it did not match his sister's.

Thus earlier assuring herself of her brother's decision, she desired to say one last farewell to the body of Voronwë, for soon, she thought, would she be with him in spirit. The biers of the slain lay deep in the woods of the city, as it was nearing the time that the shells of their souls be submitted back to the earth.

When Lasbelin came upon the clearing, coldness took her, usurping the very warmth of her body. Naught was heard, but the faint noise of her robes against the earth and the shallowness of her breathing. She slowed as she approached the tall resting place of Voronwë, unsure of her strength to look upon him once more, for fear she would renew the deep aching within her soul.

Yet as if independent from her mind, her body continued on until she was looking upon his pallid and lifeless face. She could not bear to see him this way. Yet try as she might to envisage him as he had once been, it was as if her memory was blocked at the sight she now stared at. Tears welled up in her eyes and a cry escaped her, for she was frightened that she could not remember him.

"My lady Lasbelin, your grief makes my heart ache," The voice surprised Lasbelin, and she started at the resonating sound, for she had not heard anyone draw near. She turned to find that Henduil stood among the trees, piercing her with his beautiful yet dark gaze in a way that moved her to discomfort. Lasbelin righted herself, her back straight, and took a step toward the Elf before her. Henduil watched her, the very grace of her movements, with an unrelenting gaze. Such as he had watched and followed her to the clearing deep in the forest, and as she walked, she was as a gleam of white amidst the dim of the wood. Yet his stare unsettled her, for she stirred and did not meet his eye full on.

"Do not look at me in such a manner, Henduil," she said to him, her eyes downcast.

"And in what manner do I look upon you, my lady?"

"As one who desires the love of something of which he has lost."

"The love of a brother?" Henduil said bitterly. "Yes, that is true, for I have lost that love also." Lasbelin raised her eyes to him now in wonderment.

"Also?" she asked. "What other love had you lost that you did have, my lord?"

"The love of one that was indeed lost for some time, but now may yet again be gained at the loss of another."

He spoke softly yet maliciously, and his words seemed harsh and full of intent that uttered the truth of his feelings of her clear to her heart. Lasbelin knew he spoke plainly of Voronwë's death. Though anger did not yet find its way to her expression; for only sadness remained in the darkened gray eyes, of which that were once bright, were now masked and filled with unshod tears. And it was then that, as Henduil looked upon Lasbelin, did she seem more fair than ever he had seen her; her raiment of midnight quenching the light that emanated from her, and she seemed now more fitting to be at his side, her dark beauty matching his own. She blinked, and a single tear slipped down her cheek, but when Henduil raised his hand to brush it away, she pulled back from his touch in disgust.

"I wish not to be handled by any, Henduil," she spoke out wrathfully, for she disliked the spell that his words held upon her. Lasbelin wiped away her own tear and looked upon Henduil, who seemed bewildered as though she struck out at him. "Why are you here?" She asked him, composing herself.

"I did see you pass this way, my lady. I perceive you have suffered a loss greater than I, and your sorrows I desire to heal." Lasbelin looked at him in disbelief.

"I have much mourned the loss of your brother, for he was the dearest of friends. We both have lost equally in those that were slain," she responded. With that, she narrowed her eyes at the Elf before her. "But I know your heart, Henduil, and you would have me believe what you say. No healing can you give me. None may do that now."

Lasbelin suddenly no longer had the will to be in his presence, and she stepped past him and swiftly made her way back to the city. Henduil turned with disdain in his face, and watched as she left, her dark robes billowing behind her. Fury rose inside of him, and dark thoughts filled his mind.

_I will have you love me, my lady, even if I am compelled to take you to wife by force. _He clenched his hands into fists. _Your heart will look to me, not to the hereafter, and no longer shall you weep for him to my face._

_----------_

**Author's Note:**

The longest chapter yet! I thought up the character of Henduil, who is a Elf who "corrupted" and who has a sick in fatuation with Lasbelin. The Silmarillion talks about such Elves, so I thought I would introduce one in my story. It's feeding a lot of my ideas, but I'm making them my own in my own special way. :D

Keep reading and reviewing, please (and thank you)!


	8. In Darkness and in Doubt

**Title:** Of Love and Loss

**Author:** Leaonna

**Disclaimer:** I am no part of Tolkien Enterprises, no matter how much I wish to be, so therefore credit goes to Tolkien.

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_Chapter 7: In Darkness and In Doubt_

Henduil's body seethed with frustration. Why could he not make her see? There was no other who could love her as greatly as he did. He glared at the corpse of Voronwë. Always did he have a bitter heart towards those of the Noldor who had massacred his people in the Kin-slaying. It was only fitting that he should meet the same end. While all others forgave the Noldor of their transgressions, his brother included, he kept in his heart the seed of revenge. Calming himself, Henduil turned to the body of his brother and went to his side.

"I am sorry, my brother," he began at length, looking upon the face of Dorlas with love and resolution. "This never should have happened to our family. None of it. Be it on my life I will right this injustice, mark my words." He paused for a moment. "Mother would be proud of you."

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Arion had been appointed, along with twenty other Elves of the Guard, the task of seeing Aldamir's company returned safely back to Esgaroth. It was decided by Aldamir and his men on the morning of the council that the group would leave in three days time for the journey. Arion agreed to this by the will of his father, who had in secrecy urged upon him the nature of haste that they must make to the woodland realm of King Thranduil. It was known that what Aldamir had disclosed not days ago unsettled Lord Valandil, who felt that times grew darker. Arion was meant to bring a message to the King concerning the men in the Iron Hills and their mysterious lord, if he did not already have knowledge of it.

They were to venture the passage tomorrow and Arion now was alone in the armory gathering short blades for the road. He examined the blade in his hands, the cool of the sword's hilt felt natural upon his flesh. His eyes were glazed over with thought, performing the task at hand, but only with half of a mind. Voronwë still plagued his thoughts. He lost a dear friend and, in a sense, a brother all at once. Although he had been gone some weeks, the weight of grief was finally settling down upon Arion. He had tried to be strong for his sister, but the pain inside took hold until he no longer had strength for himself.

Tears sprung to his eyes on these thoughts and he felt the ache of guilt in his heart. He should have protected Voronwë better, if not for his sake then for Lasbelin's as well. In his mind he knew it was not his fault, but that did not affect what he felt for his sister; he thought he had betrayed her somehow. Arion closed his eyes for a moment, but they quickly reopened when he ignored his anguish and felt a charge in the air, as if someone waited in the room silently. He turned to see his sister watching him, her face sick and pale with grief that matched his own. Yet he noticed some determination sparked in her eyes.

"What is it, Lasbelin?" he charged her, his brow knit in wonder, knowing that she would not have ventured here of all places without a purpose.

"Take me with you," she said, almost pleading to him, and her brother feared of what she asked. He had always been able to know what his sister thought, and he knew her heart; it was as pure and innocent as the light of the sun, and even now as it was half draped in darkness did he know her desire to no longer abide in Nuorn. Truthfully, this request of hers had bewildered him, although he did not show it.

"Lasbelin, you do not know what you speak of," Arion answered, turning to unsheathe the sword he held in his hand. "This is your home." He traced his fingers on the unsharp top of the blade, which was cool to the touch and lashed out like fire in the usual craft of the Elven smiths.

"Would you then have me stay here and walk as a shadow of your sister? _I_ would not have it so, brother," she paused, allowing her words to penetrate his thoughts. "Will you be so selfish as to keep me in Nuorn at the cost of my happiness? I cannot stay here any longer. The city is now much too silent for my ears, which are forced to hear the impoundments of my thoughts." Lasbelin sounded desperate to Arion, and his countenance began to soften as she spoke. "I seek healing, that of which only Aman can give me."

Arion turned back to his sister after allowing her words to sink in for a few moments. "I would have you stay, if you ask the truth of me. I grieve the loss of my dearest friend and comrade. Do not ask me to send away my heart to the Blessed Realm as well." He sighed at the guilt that came into his sister's face and continued. "Is there reason that you have so suddenly decided this?" he asked. Lasbelin drew quiet and downcast her eyes.

"My heart no longer lies under the trees, but in the discord of the sea." She responded softly, and paused here, seeming to decide whether to go on speaking. She hesitated, but continued nonetheless. "Voronwë came to me; in a dream, yes, but more so in a vision. He said we would meet again, and I know that it will not be in Nuorn. I would not see my end so bitterly spent in yearning and regret, for surely I will be consumed by my melancholy." She raised her face to her brother, her words pouring out indignantly. He could not stand to see his sister ail.

Finally Arion relented. "I cannot bear the pain that I see in your eyes, Lasbelin. I understand that this weighs heavier than one can know." He understood too well. Arion went to her and cupped her face in the palms of his hands as he looked at her in earnest. It was as though he were looking at himself, but with a feminine face and more shapely eyes; their features were so sculpted in each other's likeness. She watched him with a watery gaze, for her tears appeared unrelenting as of late. "I am not so selfish as you think to deny you what little happiness you may have. If there is one thing left in this life to bring you joy, I would gladly give it. If this is indeed what you wish, then I shall not be the one to hinder you, however it may pain me," he said. "But stay yet a little while until I return from Esgaroth, and I will deliver you the Havens myself to see that you are safe." Arion paused for a moment, and nearly spoke again, but thought better on it and stopped himself, releasing his sister.

But Lasbelin did not want to wait until he returned. She felt that if she did not leave soon, she would be overcome with her grief. An idea struck her, but before she could judge it, words came urgently from her lips. "Can not I come with you on your way to Esgaroth? It would do me well to venture from the city and find some peace elsewhere. Long have I desired to visit our uncle Thranduil and the rest of our father's kin in the Royal Halls."

Arion pondered this and Lasbelin awaited his reply, knowing full well he would agree to allow her to come. And he saw it as a way to perhaps delay her desire to sail from the Grey Havens. Thus he replied, "I do not forsee father being adverse to such a request. I would be glad to take you as far as uncle Thranduil's Halls. When I return, I then will accompany you to the Grey Havens. Is this agreeable?"

A surge of happiness that Lasbelin had long forgotten ran through her as she listened to her brother. She nodded.

"Then hie you to your sword, my sister. We will be traveling in the country of men, and it is quite dangerous these days, even for fair folk such as us." Lasbelin's features softened at his words, but she could not bring herself to smile. She would miss her brother terribly, but this was something that must be done. "You fear for my safety; that is known." Lasbelin responded with a hint of a smile upon her pallid face. "But why do you worry so? I can fight as well or better than you or than any of the Guard."

"Aye, I will warrant it," Arion answered gravely, as he did not doubt it and this only worried him more. His sister was indeed skilled with the sword for she learned quickly, and brandished the weapon with all such grace that the Elves were famed for. "I have feared for all of our safety as of late, yet now most of all yours."

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_The merrymaking and the festivities of that night had died down somewhat, and Lasbelin sat with Voronwë, her family, and a few others; laughing, telling tales, and singing songs. Lasbelin rose from her seat by her father and went to the side of Voronwë's chair, lowering herself so that she was within inches from his face. She had earlier noticed that the expression of Voronwë was reserved and distant, and he only spoke when spoken to. Light laughter and murmurs of talk came from the others, indicating that the company paid little attention to the two._

"Would it ease your care to walk with me a while?" Lasbelin asked in a low tone, her voice washing over Voronwë in lush waves. He turned to her, his deep blue eyes reflecting the firelight, and nodded, a soft smile forming on his lips. They rose together, and Voronwë took Lasbelin's hand in his, wrapping it about his arm. He led her through the threshold of the halls, where the echo of song resonated in their ears. The two walked in silence for a measure of time, for it had seemed comfortable and unnecessary for speech. Sounds from the night calmed them on their walk; the rushing of the brook near by and the chirping of the nightingales. Lasbelin sighed softly and rested her head upon Voronwë's shoulder. He smiled to himself and looked down upon her raven dark head as they proceeded slowly. In time, as they neared the edge of the vale by the stables, Voronwë delayed, stopping beside the entrance. Perplexed as to why they had stopped, Lasbelin raised her head to rest her chin on his shoulder, and looked up at him.

"What is in your mind?" she asked him in question.

"I should like to ride into the forest." He responded plainly, and they did so, Voronwë upon his brown mare and Lasbelin on her gray palfrey, Celegir. As they rode, no noise came to them from the forest other than the soft sounds of the wild.

"You are so silent, Voronwë," Lasbelin finally commented. She watched him lead his horse throughout the birch and mallorn trees.

"I have much on my mind tonight." He responded vaguely, and looked her way. "Shall we stop here?"

Lasbelin nodded, never taking her eyes off of Voronwë. Why was he behaving so strangely? She pondered this while he dismounted gracefully, tethered his horse, and reached hers to tie it up and to help her down. The light fabric of her dress and cloak fluttered in the slight breeze that suddenly stirred as he took her by the waist and drew her down from the horse. Once upon the ground, Lasbelin noticed Voronwë did not withdraw his arms from her, but only pulled her closer. He rested his forehead upon hers with his eyes closed and breathing deep as if to breathe her in. Lasbelin, who smiled to herself at this tender gesture, raised a hand to his cheek, with her other on his shoulder, and laid a soft kiss upon his lips.

"You are tense." She said slowly. "Will you not tell me why?"

Voronwë stood silent and still for some time before he spoke. "I have loved you for many years, Lasbelin, and I shall never stop." He sighed, and drew back his head to look her in the eyes. "Wherever you went I would go and still you delay. Will _you_ not tell me why?"

The pain and confusion that Voronwë bore in his eyes was more than Lasbelin could bear, and she felt she had to look away from them. "I do not mean to delay." She began somberly, and then looked upon his face. "But you are the son of a mariner, Voronwë. Can you truly tell me your heart belongs to me only and not to the sea as well?"

"I can, Lasbelin. Although the sea calls to me ceaselessly, I turn from it saying, 'Nay,' for the land holds something much dearer to my heart." He responded with so much fervor that Lasbelin was taken aback.

"Then I say to you stay yet. Stay, and soon we shall be betrothed." She returned her forehead to his and said this last in earnest, tracing the features of his wise yet youthful face with her fingertips. Lasbelin grinned at him then, her smile reaching to her bright gray eyes, and Voronwë could only help but smile back. Drawing her closer to him, he twirled her around with laughter, and her ebony hair that shone in the moonlight moved about them in the wind. Once released, Lasbelin backed away from him with a jovial grin upon her face that suggested were he to move towards her, she would bound away.

"Come now, Lasbelin, let us not play at games." He said, trying to sound reprimanding, but could not allow himself to do so with a smirk upon his face.

Their laughter died down, and they sat beneath the mallorn tree in the forest thicket. Lasbelin caressed Voronwë's right hand with hers so that his strong hand fit with her delicate one, and wished not for the world to ever move. She breathed into his chest, aware of all her senses about her surroundings; the way Voronwë's tunic smelled of earth and clean water, and the way that he held her close with his arm about her waist. They stayed this way for some time in each others arms, until the inescapable warmth of sleep overtook them.

"Do not ever leave me, Voronwë." Lasbelin said softly with her eyes closed, feeling the rise and fall of his chest.

"Never." He said, and he meant it wholly. The sound of his slow breathing was comforting to Lasbelin, and she soon found herself asleep.

----------

"_Why dost thou linger here?_" A deep and powerful voice echoed in the Halls. Voronwë stood peering at the intricate tapestries that told the story of the World. These were of the Weaver Vairë and were hung upon the great stone walls. The Elf turned at the voice and saw the image of Námo Mandos before him, who taken the form of a great man draped in gray robes. His face was profound, yet kind, and his bright eyes that glimmered with the world's knowledge watched Voronwë carefully. In truth, Voronwë seemed confused as of late; his strong spirit torn away from that of his equally strong body. But he knew why he could not pass deeper into the halls.

"My bride yearns for me, mighty Námo," he voiced aloud. "I was slain ere we were wed, therefore I perceive that is why I cannot move on." Mandos nodded, but did not remove his eyes from the Elf before him.

"_Thou art of the Noldorin, exiled to The World That Is_," he replied. "_Thy kin is bound to the circles of the earth so thou shalt make beautiful things upon the earth, which thy kin hast done and shall do yet for a time. It is the will of Illúvatar_." Mandos stepped forward gracefully, and there was a low, rushing sound as he stepped, seeming as if all the spirits of the halls walked with him. "_Many that have passed through here have lingered for a time, for those they loved held on to them so. But they began to fade away, deeper into the halls, until they were gone. Those of the Elf kindreds were recast into new beings of the earth. This shall soon be your fate_."

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**Author's Note:**

Alright, what did you think? I tried to make Mandos as characteristic as explained in The Silmarillion, and I also tried to explain how those that die get to the Halls and where they go afterward.

But finally I'm done revising the chapters and added a new one to boot. Now it's time to start writing the rest. I know this fic was published a long time ago, but I really want to finish it. I hope that those of you who have been reading it continue to do so and review it as well. ;)

I have the 9th part in my head as we speak. Hopefully it'll be up very soon.


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